


Tear Myself Apart

by Catchclaw



Series: Mental Mimosa [245]
Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Blow Jobs, Dirty Talk, Feelings Realization, First Kiss, M/M, Season/Series 01
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-01
Updated: 2019-04-01
Packaged: 2019-12-30 09:48:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,454
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18313160
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Catchclaw/pseuds/Catchclaw
Summary: The first time Will tasted Hannibal’s mouth, it was as if he were reborn.





	Tear Myself Apart

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt: Rebirth. Prompt from this [generator](http://colormayfade.tumblr.com/generator).
> 
> Saw Mads in _Arctic_ this weekend and realized damn, I miss that man.

The first time Will tasted Hannibal’s mouth, it was as if he were reborn. Hannibal’s hands were on his wrists, pinning them hard against Will’s chest, and there were shelves at his back, digging, hard wood and sharp corners digging greedily through his shirt and into his skin because Hannibal’s kiss was angry, he was, breathing hard through his nose and refusing to let Will catch his breath.

They’d been arguing about something Jack had said to him, something he hadn’t thought anything of and blindly repeated: _I’m wearing thin, he says. He says he worries about me. It’s a lie, clearly. He needs me. And no one in their right mind has ever worried about me_.

He hadn’t meant for it to sound self-pitying; to him, it was merely a statement of fact. He’d been 12 the last time he’d felt that someone was burning mental energy on his well-being; the skinny kid in the dark suit whose mother was newly stuck in the dirt. Alana had come the closest since then, maybe, but any feeling Alana might’ve had for him--as he'd learned, painfully--always came with a price.

He’d been pacing around Hannibal’s office, talking, Hannibal settled elegantly at his desk, and when Will had said the thing about Jack, offhanded, his back had been turned, his face turned towards the window and the gathering dark. He hadn’t heard Hannibal fast and furious behind him, as he must have been; hadn’t had a chance to steel himself for the unforgiving grip of Hannibal’s fingers as he spun Will around and drove him into the nearest wall, a bookcase, and snarled fire into his face:

 _I do_ , Hannibal had hissed. _How can you not know that I--? There are new shards in you every day, Will, and all I can think about is how I can hold them together, keep you from shattering. I worry for you. Every day, I do this. How dare you say that I don’t._

And then his hands had snapped from Will’s shoulders and snatched up his wrists and before he could move or breathe or plead, all he knew was Hannibal’s mouth, hot and dark and smothering; the drag of his tongue and the squeeze of his hands and the painful press of his body and there was no place for Will to go to escape it, nothing he could do but lean back and take it, and it did something dark to him, something wild, made him feel trapped and dirty and good.

He whined when Hannibal drew away and he saw the ink spread in Hannibal’s eyes, felt the hungry shift of his hips. He was hard, harder than Will was, a steel line in his fine wool trousers that Will had a deep need to see opened, opened and sliding down Hannibal’s hips.

“Why are you angry?” Will asked.

“Angry?” Hannibal’s voice was rough. His eyes were fixed on Will’s mouth. “I am not angry.”

“The hell you’re not.”

Hannibal made a low noise, subterranean. His nails bit into Will’s wrists. “I am not angry,” he repeated. “I am angered by the tenacity of your misguided belief that there is no one who cares for you.”

“Worry isn’t the same as care.”

“No, but sometimes they are cousins, are they not?”

There was a fragility to it, Hannibal's expression, to those words, gently spoken, that made Will feel exposed, made him feel a sudden, vicious need to fucking push.

“Do you worry about me, Dr. Lecter?” he said, a curl of oil in his voice. “Is that what all this is about?”

“I have no need of your contempt, Will.”

“But you need something from me, don’t you? Or your dick does.”

Hannibal’s eyes flickered, a moth meeting flame. “There is no reason to be crass.”

“There is every fucking reason, apparently.” Will lifted his hips, grinned when Hannibal gasped. “You’re hard enough to cut glass.”

“Will.”

“Do you worry about me like this at night? When you’re under silk sheets and all is right in your head, do you tell yourself that you feel concern for me when you reach for your dick? Do you jack off thinking about all the ways you’re going to save me, all the things you’ll do to make sure I don’t tear myself apart?”

Hannibal growled. “I never said that worry was all I felt for you.”

“You never said that you felt for me at all.”

“Of course I have. You were simply not listening.”

“So you thought you’d make me listen, is that it? Pin me here like one of your pictures so you could show me your heart?" He laughed, an edge of broken glass. "Or is there something else you want me to see?"

It was only when Hannibal shoved him to his knees, when he unfastened his belt and his fly and drew Will’s head towards that warm, living gap, that he recognized what he was doing, why this was better; why he’d rather feast on Hannibal’s beautiful body than read the blood-soaked lines of the man’s heart. He knew Hannibal cared for him; it was a surety, a certainty, just as the moon circled the sun. They had never spoken of it and now he understood why--hearing just those hints of it from Hannibal’s mouth was fucking overwhelming, too big and too good and too much. This was easier: his fist curled around Hannibal’s cock; Hannibal’s hands in his hair, urging the fat, reddened head deeper into the clutch of his mouth. Will had thought of this so many times, dreamed of it, but he’d never imagined the look in Hannibal’s eyes, the bare naked worship that made it hard to breathe, and when Hannibal’s palms slipped to his cheeks and cradled his face in those broad, awful hands, there was an intimacy in the gesture, an echo of love, that Will could hardly fucking bear, that he clung to, that made his heart feel like a great, bloody weight. 

He felt everything. He knew nothing. He was desperate to make Hannibal come.

Then Hannibal’s thumbs touched his mouth and Hannibal’s groans filled his ears and Hannibal's head fell back, his mouth a sound like walls breaking, and he emptied himself in Will’s throat like he’d been waiting to all his life.

“Will,” Hannibal whispered through the last trembling spasms. “Oh, my dearest.”

He laid his forehead against Hannibal’s hip, after, the air, his mouth thick with the bittersweet of Hannibal’s come, and when Hannibal reached for him, hauled him none too gently up, Will went.

“Next time,” Hannibal said as they kissed, as he eased down Will’s zipper and drew him swollen and wet into the firelight, “next time I touch you like this, we will be in my bed. I will have filled your belly and poured you my wine, pleased your senses in so many ways before I pull you from your clothes and bring you pleasure like this.”

"Yes." Will shuddered, his nails catching on the back of Hannibal’s waistcoat. He arched his back and Hannibal obliged him, started stroking him harder and fast. “Hannibal, god. Yes.”

Hannibal nuzzled his cheek. “And once you’ve come, my darling, I’ll stretch you with my fingers, fingers coated in your seed, and then I’ll have you like that, wet and tight, and make you come again all over my sheets before I let myself fill you. Can you feel that, Will? The weight, the heat of my cock inside you? The noise you’ll make when you feel me come?"

Will turned his head and found that beautiful mouth and lost himself in one, long greedy jolt that went on and on and on, his hips still riding Hannibal’s fist long after his balls were empty.

“Oh, fuck,” he breathed. “Hannibal. _Hannibal_ , fuck.”

Hannibal kissed him again, drew it out long and lazy. There was no anger left now for either of them; only a spiky softness, a temporarily sated sort of greed.

“I worry about you,” Hannibal murmured after a time. “You know this, don’t you?”

“No,” Will said. He stroked the back of Hannibal’s neck. “You don’t worry. You think you’re the only one who can keep me whole.”

“Mmm. Yes.”

Will raised his head. Looked into those dark, full fathom eyes. “I don’t know if you can or not, doctor,” he said. “But I’d like for you to try.”

Hannibal smiled at him, a smile he’d never seen before, small and pleased and shining, and Will found he had to touch it, had to draw his fingertips across that softly bruised line.

“Will,” Hannibal said through the cage of his fingers. “I thought you’d never ask."


End file.
